


hold my liquor

by maybe_now



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: College AU, Gen, Modern AU, all my friends are drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:13:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybe_now/pseuds/maybe_now
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake barreled into the hall, hardly even sparing her a glance as he delivered the words she had been dreading since her floormates left hours before:</p>
<p>“Miller called.<br/>They’re back.”</p>
<p>(college au; all our friends are drunk)</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold my liquor

**Author's Note:**

> I had a witty thing to put here but it got deleted and I'm tired as fuck. I'm probably going to end up writing more college au drabbles in this verse bc I'm too lazy and not talented enough to plot. I also suck at titles, so thanks yeezus.
> 
> [HAHA OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED HOW DID THIS HAPPEN IM SUPPOSED TO BE STUDYING FOR TWO BIG EXAMS I HAVE FRIDAY AND INSTEAD I SPENT TODAY WRITING THIS WHY WHY WHY DID I DO THIS THIS WAS SO STUPID SO DUMB SO DUMB SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS]
> 
> (please leave me comments or whatever so I don't cry from stress and regret I need all the help I can get at this point)  
> i am trash.

the college au's

.

_hold my liquor_

_._

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The kids that lived on her floor were crazy.

Full on insane.

She’d known when she’d watched them trail out, one by one, from the pregame in Monty and Jasper’s room that tonight would be trouble.

The lucky shits were all done with their round of midterms.  Monty and Raven had breezed through their freshman engineering gen-ed exams with an ease she envied (Clarke swore that she never even saw Raven _touch_ a textbook).  She’s pretty sure Jasper (and Monty, probably, since those two always seemed to do everything together) had MADE the alcohol the group consumed tonight, so Clarke took that as an indication towards how his organic chemistry test went.  Wells’ political science course had a test a week ago, so he wasn’t feeling the crush of exams.

The freshmen were definitely out in full force tonight

The ‘babies’ of the floor, as the upperclassmen liked to call them, were being monitored by Miller, a sophomore, for the night.  And by monitored, Clarke meant that when the normally reserved Miller had wandered into the kitchen to grab more soda for mixer, he was drunk enough that she’d had her first experience with what Monroe called (and patented) the [in]famous “Nathan Miller Sass”. 

Her tired pathophysiology textbook was sprawled open on the table, her fingers stained with ink from when she lost concentration and started to doodle on the glossy pages.

The exuberant group had been out for a few hours, as she watched the dingy digital clock above the stove rearrange to 3:00. 

Their suite was much more quiet now.  Her friends had a very wide and passionate tastes in music.

_(“Oh my GOD, Jasper, this is not the fucking time for folk music!”_ –Raven

_“Miller, I swear to all that is holy if you try to sneak one more weird Danny Brown song on this playlist I will steal all your weed.”_ –Jasper

“ _Just let me put on this one Childish Gambino song—he’s more than just an actor trying to rap, I SWEAR!”_ —Wells

“ _RAVEN WHAT ARE YOU EVEN HOOKING UP—wait you made this? These beats are sick!_ ”—Monty)

 Why was she pre-med, again?

Miserable, Clarke flipped another page, resigned herself to studying another diagram.

She felt like she could feel the silence ringing in her ears.

Her fingers were itching to sketch.

Frustrated by her lack of will, she picked up a pencil and started drawing a copy of the diagram in her textbook.  Even if she didn’t feel like reading about the human body and all the ways it fucks up, she would draw a damn good picture of it.

Soon, she was lost in her happy place, the scratch of lead on paper a new soundtrack for the quiet as she got into a groove.

 

A door slammed open, knocking her concentration on its ass, and Bellamy Blake barreled into the hall, hardly even sparing her a glance as he delivered the words she had been dreading since her floormates left hours before:

 “Miller called. They’re back.”

She heaved a great sigh, head falling back to hit the wall none too gently.

“Princess,” he called, paused with his hand on the doorknob to the stairwell, and although his tone was sharp, a call to action, his eyes were beseeching.

Steeling herself for what was to come, she huffed and slid on her shoes.

Bellamy watched her as she crossed the room, propping the door open as she neared.

His hand, big and warm, guided the small of her back out the door.

She shivered.

* * *

 

“AYYY waddup MOM AND DAD!” Raven yelled when they reached the lobby, a slight sway in her step as she lunged to punch Bellamy in the chest.

The hit still landed solid. 

Bellamy’s unimpressed expression morphed into a grimace.

“Cute.”

Even though it was only halfway through the freshmen’s first semester on campus, by now Clarke wasn’t quite as phased by the nickname.  So what if she always seemed to have to stay in and study while all her friends went out?  If she was going to continue in her mother’s footsteps and become a doctor, she needed her GPA to near perfect.  And so what if she often seemed to assume responsibility and take control of things when their floor turned to chaos?

The slight flush (of _annoyance_ ) of being the ‘mom’ to Bellamy’s ‘dad’, well…

Clarke was going to ignore that.

(Just because Bellamy always seemed to be doing work too, so that they always ended up taking care of these stupid idiots _together_ …)

Raven was ranting now, the slight slur in her words and the way she balanced herself by slinging an arm around Miller’s waist and tucked herself under his arm betrayed how drunk she actually was.

Clarke had never seen a tolerance like Raven Reyes’. 

“….you guys-re so damn boooooring, like, I swearda _god_ Bellamy, lighten up you’re a damn junior _History_ major how hard could it fuckin be…”

“The woman has a point,” Monty agreed sagely.  Clarke could see how dilated his pupils were from where she stood—she just hoped he trusted who he got the drugs from.

Wells looked pretty gone as well—a part of her felt a pang of concern, because when did Wells Jaha do drugs other than alcohol?, but decided not to dwell on it. 

“Enough, you guys, let’s just get your asses upstairs and to bed,” Bellamy said, probably with all the patience he had stored in his body. 

Apparently not enough to stop his eye roll, although his lips softened from a tight line to an exasperated half-smile at her amused snort.

“I-dunno if m’gun ma’it ups... uh’there,” slurred Jasper.  The boy was resting his head on Monty’s shoulders, arms draped around him.  Monty was just gazing off into the distance, humming.

Bellamy heaved a dramatic sigh. “Jesus, Jordan. “

He walked over, unwrapping Jasper’s pliant limbs from Monty’s body and securing an arm under Jasper’s.

“I swear to god, every fucking time….” He was muttering, eyes catching Clarke’s. 

She could only shrug, and she could almost hear his thoughts in return: _these fucking freshmen, why._

A smile lingering, she strode up to Monty, grabbing his hand and tugging slightly.

“C’mon, Monty, time to go upstairs.”

He looked at her, expression completely serious.

“Clarke, I think my neurons are reconfiguring themselves and I need to go to the lab and find out why.”

* * *

 

The noise they made in the stairwell was unseemly.  Clarke just knew they were going to be dealing with noise complaints from the first floor as they clamored up the steps.  

Suite 21A, the one where she (and Bellamy, Monty, Jasper, and Monroe) lived, was the closest to the stairs. 

Bellamy half dragged, half carried Jasper to his room, Clarke trailing after with Monty (but not before locking eyes with the rest of them and saying a stern “Stay put.”)

 “Oh, my bed,” Monty said in a daze, kicking off his shoes and climbing in. 

Clarke stood in the doorway, one ear focused on the kitchen (who knows what those idiots might do, although it seemed all they were doing was talking _really_ loud—good thing Monroe had went to her boyfriend’s dorm for the night), waiting for Bellamy to put Jasper in bed.  She didn’t envy him.  The beds that came with the dorm room were always set at a strangely high height—just high enough where an ambitious jump was needed to get in. 

It was proving to be a difficult process, if Bellamy’s repeated sighs and “Jasper. Fucking— _Jordan_ , get your shit together and open your eyes for two damn seconds, or like, try to stand on your own or take off your own damn shoes—“ were anything to go by.

Clarke was little worried, because although Jasper was usually the one who was the worst on any given night out (“DRUNKEST BITCH AT THE PARTY, JJ!” Raven liked to yell when she challenged him to go shot for shot and she (inevitably) would win), he normally was more… alert than this.  He might as well be unconscious.

Bellamy’s patience seemed to be wearing out, because he finally uttered a venomous “ _Fuck it”_ and—

_Lifted_

Jasper Jordan into bed.

Clarke’s mouth went dry.

Bellamy (none too gently) pushed Jasper into a position on his side, before turning to her.

His breathing was a tad quicker due to the exertion, and for a second Clarke couldn’t tear her gaze from the veins running up his arms to his (admittedly impressive) biceps.

Clarke shook her head to clear it as Bellamy approached.

“Shouldn’t we…?” she gestured weakly at Jasper.

Bellamy huffed, grabbing her shoulder and steering her back into the hall.

“No. We’ll deal with them later after getting everyone else back to their rooms.”

 

The scene they walked into was as follows:

Miller was seated on the table, though his legs were long enough that it looked more like he was just resting against it, with Raven standing in between his legs—close, but not incriminatingly close.  His hands were balled into fists, pressing into his thighs and he seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at Raven.  Raven was staring at him, arms crossed, eyes hard and challenging.

Wells could be seen in the in the main hallway outside the suite, walking in slow zigzags towards 30B.

“Miller, you good?” Bellamy called from behind her shoulder.

Before Bellamy could even finish his sentence, Miller had shot up, causing Raven to stumble back, hands flailing.

Clarke lunged, but Miller was faster, hands shooting out to catch her shoulders. 

Raven gave a wry laugh. “Woooow I guess I drank a little more than I thought.”

She was still swaying. 

Miller looked back at Bellamy.  “Yeah, I got it.”

Bellamy slipped past her.

“Princess, I’m going to go make sure Jaha doesn’t hurt himself.  His dad would probably kick out our whole floor if he heard a hair on his head was harmed.”

Clarke could only shake her head.  Wells couldn’t help that his dad was the President of the university, but Bellamy hadn’t yet been able to separate the idea of Wells from his father.

“This… is weird,” she heard Wells say as he and Bellamy turned into his suite.  “We aren’t friends, like, at all.”

“Is that so,” intoned Bellamy, “and here I thought we were best buddies…”

Feeling a bit useless, Clarke trailed after Raven and Miller, although she was starting to see that she was interrupting something.

Raven was leaning heavily on Miller, who had an arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Something she said must have made him laugh, and she heard him say, “Let’s just get you to bed.”

“Yes,” Raven proclaimed, “My bed. You and me and _my bed_.”

“Raven…” Miller sighed.

“I don’t c _are_ about Finn anymore, Nate,” she implored, dragging her feet a bit in some attempt to try to get Miller to look down at her. 

There was something in her voice that made Clarke feel uncomfortable, a lack of the steel and sarcasm that always seemed to be present. She and Raven had just started becoming closer ever since the whole… Finn fiasco (that’s what Jasper called it when he though she couldn’t hear him), but she didn’t know anything about Raven and Miller.

“I _don’t_ ,” she stressed.

Clarke could see Miller’s shoulders tighten, but his hand smoothed up and down once on Raven’s arm.

“Okay, Raven, okay.”

“No, ’m not fuckin around, Nate, I’m serious I don’t understand why you think this is such a bad idea, it doesn’ have to be complicated at _all—“_ Raven’s volume was increasing as she started working herself up, preparing to fight.

“Raven, just slow down, okay,” he urged, and Clarke had _never_ seen this side of Miller before, “Slow down.”

“No, I swear to god I don’t give a fuck about him anymore—“ her sentence ended abruptly as she spotted Bellamy exiting Wells’ suite, “And I _definitely_ don’t give a fuck about Bellamy Blake.”

Miller shifted uneasily.

Clarke shot a confused glance at Bellamy, but he was only smiling wryly as he walked past Raven back towards her.

“Back at ya, Reyes,” he yelled over his shoulder, to which Raven raised a double middle finger salute over her head, not even bothering to turn around.

Clarke turned to Bellamy, to ask, but he just shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it, Princess.  Miller’s got it.  Let’s go back and check on the Wonder Team.”

* * *

 

Monty was out like a light, but Jasper was still rolling around sluggishly, moaning unintelligible words.

It was nearing 4:00 AM, and Clarke could clearly label the exhaustion all over Bellamy—he worked the early shift in the library this morning.

He strode over to the bed, shaking Jasper a bit.

Clarke’s nose scrunched when she hear the tell-tale sound of retching

“Ugh, _jesus fuck,”_ Bellamy cursed, turning away from Jasper, one hand holding his shirt gingerly away from his body.

(A muddled “ _I’m sorry_ ” could be heard behind him.)

Clarke didn’t try hard to hold back her laugh.

“Puke looks good on you, Blake,” she smirked from across the room.

Bellamy gave her a half-hearted glare before taking another look down at the damage.

Her attention snapped back to Jasper when he groaned.

“Bellamy,” she scolded, taking hurried steps over to the bed, “Make sure he’s on his side!”

Bellamy scoffed.  “Princess, I’m not an idiot. Besides, everyone’s seen that episode of Breaking Bad by now.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and moved to do the job herself, but quickly cursed her shortness as she tried to reach the pillows resting on the wall behind Jasper. 

Damn her school for their strange standard bed height.  She actually had to buy a little stool to be able to get on her bed without making a giant leap of faith every time. 

She heard a quiet chuckle escape Bellamy, bristling as he placed a hand on her arm with a patronizing “Here, let _me.”_

She spun towards him, full intentions unclear but definitely along the lines of ‘ _get even’_ , but her plan abruptly fell short as she was met with a view full of Bellamy’s chest.

Naked chest.

…bare torso.

(what were those anatomy terms she knew?)

Her eyes widened, watching the stretch and contractions of the prominent muscles under his tan skin as he pushed cushions behind Jasper’s back to keep him propped on his side.

She had seen him shirtless, once or twice, as he’d walked back from the bathroom, towel around his waist and dark hair damp from his shower, but those had all been brief glimpses—she was usually much farther away, doing homework in the kitchen, too stubborn to let her eyes stray for too long. ( _Why_ did Bellamy Blake have to live in her suite?  Of all the suites on this floor she could have ended up in…)

Boys like Bellamy Blake were the ones that knew their bodies looked good and even though he certainly wasn’t paying attention to her, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of her ogling his muscles.

Which was certainly what she was doing now.

But just.

Okay. Bellamy Blake was hot, alright?

Any girl who happened to walk by him thought so, she was just having a normal reaction to a very impressive physique.

 She tore her eyes away, looking for anything, something, before locking on Jasper’s shoes.

“I, uh,” she stammered, not even checking if Bellamy caught her checking him out, and took a distinct step _away_ from his body and towards Jasper’s feet, “Shoes.”

She saw Bellamy shake his head, bemused.  “Okay, Princess,” he grinned quietly.

 Clarke concentrated on refocusing as she untied Jasper’s laces and slid off his shoes.  With an unceremonious toss, they fell to the ground. 

“Well,” she said briskly, trying to bring their relationship back to normal (which meant slightly antagonistic with a layer of understanding a bit of respect).  Bellamy turned towards her, an eyebrow cocking as he crossed his arms over his chest.

(She did _not_ watch how that movement caused his biceps stand more prominent, or highlight the dip between his pecs, or how his damn abs shifted. She did not, not at all.)

“Relax, Princess,” and his smile was easy for once, “C’mon let’s go back to my room and take a shot to cap off another night of taking care of the idiots on our floor.”

A smiling Bellamy Blake, the ones where he briefly dropped all the weight he seemed to carry around on his back all the time, that Bellamy Blake was hard to deny.

She shrugged.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Clarke had only been in Bellamy’s room a few times and it was just as orderly as she remembered.  His room undoubtedly had the best view of the lake their floor offered (and she was sure he had found some way to ensure it was saved for him), and he had removed the university issued bed to make room for a full sized bed, which sat directly on the floor in the corner closest to the windows. 

His desk was the only messy part, textbooks and paperbacks sprawled open, undoubtedly marked up by the miscellaneous highlighter and blue pens littering the desk.    Otherwise, all his books (and there were many) were nicely filed into his bookshelf

She perched a bit awkwardly on a corner of his desk as he rummaged in one of his drawers, pulling out a grey shirt that he proceeded to slip over his head.

Clarke looked away, resisting the urge to catalogue exactly what he looked like shirtless for a second time tonight.

“I can’t believe he fucking threw up on me,” he was joking lightly, digging through another cabinet before emerging with a bottle of what looked like pretty decent whiskey and shot glasses.

“I hope he knows he’s washing that.”

Clarke chuckled.  “If he remembers what happened in the morning, he will be _mortified.”_

Bellamy lips curled into a smirk.  “Oh, I know. And if he doesn’t remember, I’ll be sure to remind him.”

He leaned on the desk next to her, setting down the glasses and opening the bottle. His hand was steady as he poured the liquor up to the brim of what was definitely taller than a normal shot glass.

Clarke raised an eyebrow.

“Double shots?”

Bellamy grinned.  “Have some fun while you still can, you deserve it.”

Clarke picked up her drink. 

“Taking a pity shot, even if it is a double, isn’t exactly what I’d call fun.”

Bellamy barked out a laugh, raising his glass to clink with hers.

“Always so damn serious, Princess.”

He gestured towards her once with the glass before throwing the alcohol smoothly back.

Instead of watching the way he threw his head back and his throat bobbed as he swallowed, she quickly followed suit.

It burned as it went down, but Clarke was no stranger to alcohol—she could tell it was good stuff.  Secret stash worthy.

She set her class quietly onto the desk next to a pair of thick rimmed glasses.

When she looked up, she caught Bellamy staring at her, expression indecipherable.

Feeling heat on the back of her neck, she stood up fully, murmuring a goodnight on her way to the door.

Something made her stop on at the doorframe though.

She stopped, turning a bit back towards him.  His gaze was trained downward now, at the fingers he was twisting in his lap.

His gaze snapped back to her when she spoke.

“So do you, by the way,” she said, and as his head tilted quizzically, she clarified.

“Deserve to have fun, I mean.”

A corner of his mouth tilted up, amused as he broke eye contact.

“Goodnight, Princess,” he said, that look in his eyes again.

And with a semi-embarrassed smile and nod, Clarke ducked out of the room.


End file.
